Page 103 of Mile High Ex's Dad
He strokes himself once, slowly, watching me watch him. “Good.”
Then he turns me. He bends me over the padded arm of the bench, one hand on the small of my back, the other spreading my thighs wider.
The position makes me feel everything. My skirt bunched at my waist. My underwear hanging half off one ankle. My breasts pressed against the leather. The cool cabin air on my wet skin. Him behind me, big and hard and breathing like he’s already half-gone.
He drags the head of his cock through my slickness once, twice, making me whimper. “Look at you,” he says, voice rough. “You were made to be fucked like this.”
Then he pushes in, and I gasp into the leather.
He doesn’t go gentle. Not cruel, but not soft either. He fills me in one deep, relentless thrust that has my whole body jerking and my hands clutching for something to hold.
“Fuck,” he groans. “That’s it.”
He gives me barely a second to adjust before he starts moving. Hard. Deep. Merciless in the best way.
Every thrust drives me forward against the arm of the bench, my breasts bouncing, my breath breaking into helpless little cries I can’t control. He grips my hip with one hand and my hair with the other, not yanking, just holding enough to keep my head turned as he fucks into me over and over with the kind of force that makes my knees weak.
“This cunt,” he says between thrusts, like he can’t help himself. “So fucking wet for me. So tight. Taking me like you’ve wanted this as long as I have.”
I have. God, I have.
He reaches around and rubs my clit while he keeps pounding into me, and I come apart again with a strangled moan, shaking so hard I nearly collapse. He fucks me through it, slower fora few strokes, deeper, like he wants to feel every pulse of me around him.
Then he pulls out.
I make a small protest, but he only laughs and turns me back toward him. “Kiss me.”
I do.
He kisses me while he walks me backward to the bed, while I stumble and cling to him, while his hands roam over every soft, aching part of me like he can’t get enough.
He lays me down on my back this time and spreads me wide, taking a second just to look. The sight of his face between my legs, dark and intent and completely undone by me, makes me throb all over again.
“Such a fucking body,” he says. “I’m going to spend the rest of this flight making you come.”
He climbs over me and enters me slowly now, watching my face, kissing me when I tense, pausing when I need it, then sinking deeper and deeper until I’m full of him again.
This time he fucks me like he wants to keep me there. Long, deep strokes. His mouth on mine. His hand under my thigh to hold me wider. His other hand on my breast, my waist, my throat, wherever he needs it. The pace builds gradually, each thrust dragging a little more sound out of me, each one making it harder to think.
I wrap my legs around him and pull him closer.
He groans and drives in deeper for it. “Greedy girl.”
“You started it.”
That gets a wicked smile out of him.
He shifts us again, rolling so I’m on top for a moment, straddling him, his hands gripping my hips.
“There,” he says. “Ride me.”
I stare at him.
His eyes darken. “Show me what this body can do.”
So I sink down on him and start moving, slow at first, finding the angle, then faster when he starts guiding me with those big hands on my hips. The look on his face nearly ruins me by itself. Head back. Mouth parted. Eyes fixed on my breasts bouncing above him, on the way my body takes him, on every movement like he’s starving for it.
“Fuck, Sienna.”
